Absinthe is the stuff that makes you go mad, see fairies, commit
murder and become alcoholic, syphilitic and anti-Semitic, isn't it?
And it's on the menu at the Monkey Bar. Cool.

Of course, it does none of the above but, according to James
Villas's book Stalking the Green Fairy, absinthe was blamed for all
these things before it was more or less banned worldwide at the
beginning of the 20th century. Now that's what I call a drink!

Absinthe of old had an alcohol content of about 72 per cent and
contained the psychoactive derivative of a plant known,
wonderfully, as wormwood. It's now legal again in most of Europe
but the stuff you get here has had the wormwood taken out.
According to our waiter it is still "68 per cent proof". So, that's
dessert taken care of; what about the rest?

The Monkey Bar is hidden around the back of that maze-like
temple of Mammon known as Chatswood Chase. It's parked on a corner
with walls of curved glass and wonderful views of a roundabout.

Inside there is a pool table and, tucked around the corner, the
compact dining area.

Can I say this before we get into it? The staff here were fun,
solicitous and, just before we got stuck into the absinthe, one of
them told us: "This is the stuff Van Gogh was drinking before he
cut his ear off." Which made my chum Shady Adey blanch a little, as
she is very attached to her ears.

The oysters are deemed "nice" and I am much taken with my
antipasto plate, which features smoked salmon, salt-and-pepper
calamari, chorizo sausage, hummus, vegetarian samosas and Turkish
dipping bread. The lentil salad is good, too.

Shady is a little miffed, though, when the duck turns up. On the
menu it says: "Roasted duck legs on potato mash with red wine
sauce." The potato, she declares, is "excellent", the sauce is
"divine" but if one advertises "legs" then one must produce them
both, I feel. This must be the only restaurant in town with
one-legged ducks hobbling around the kitchen.

Still, we had a fun night and at the end went up to the bar to
receive our just desserts. Shady is wary, I am gleeful; we are
about to try absinthe.

A slotted silver spoon is balanced on each glass, a sugar cube
is placed on top. The green rocket fuel is poured, the sugar cube
is lit. The flame burns green, the cube is dropped into the liquid,
a quick stir and down the hatch it goes (this is not the
traditional method, which involves pouring water on the sugar and
then sipping the result).

Shady throws it back like it is water. "Not as bad as I
expected," she says while my eyeballs now know how the sugar cube
felt when the waiter set fire to it. "So," I gasp, "how long before
I see Kylie?"